


Moments of Small Things

by jalapeno_jazz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 02:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16420232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jalapeno_jazz/pseuds/jalapeno_jazz
Summary: Sometimes you don’t realize that what is already in front of you is exactly what you need.





	Moments of Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> No, I'm not JKR, but the characters are hers. Yes, this is my first fan fic. Many thanks to my awesome beta, AutumnLily and to LaBelladoneX, who has amazing amounts of patience. And a shout out to all the other writers!

 

 

 

Draco instantly spit out the sip of the drink Blaise had handed him, spraying it all over his desk. “Terego,” he hastily muttered to clean the vile liquid Blaise had foisted on him before it stained the documents on his desk. “What in the actual fuck is this?” he turned to ask Blaise, who had just moments before set the cup in front of him.

Blaise smirked, leaning over the edge of Draco’s desk, as if he were about to impart a closely-held bit of information, “It’s a PSL. It’s autumn, you know. Everyone is drinking them.”

“A what??” Draco sputtered, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth.

“You know…a pumpkin-spiced latte. The hot new drink at Florean Fortescue’s. It’s all the rage - since it was introduced by some American wizards.” Blaise explained.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass where it came from or who is drinking it. I haven’t even had pumpkin juice since I was 13. Why the hell would I want to drink it now?” Draco retorted.

Blaise sighed, “Suit yourself, Draco. Don’t drink it, if you don’t want it. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

Blaise departed, leaving Draco to stare at the back of his friend’s head. Draco heard a rustle and his attention turned from his departing friend to see an arm reaching over from the desk behind his. He saw Hermione place another cup on his desk, stretching to reach it. As she did so, Draco’s eyes glanced upward to the straining buttons on her blouse, catching a momentary glimpse of black lace underneath. He sharply inhaled.

“And what exactly is this?” Draco asked, lowering his voice and inclining an eyebrow towards his office mate.

Hermione smiled as she straightened and turned back to her desk, “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

Draco took a hesitant sip of the warm brew. It was pleasant, not at all like the disgrace that had been the PSL…or whatever that crap was called. This tasted of apples and caramel, with just a hint of cinnamon - his favorite flavors combined. He slowly took a larger mouthful, relishing the blend before he swallowed again. “Mmmmm.” He moaned, his taste buds contented. Draco turned to thank Hermione, but her head was already down and she had resumed scratching feverishly at the parchment in front of her.

Sensing his gaze on her, she lazily waved one hand in the air, “Don’t mention it, Draco. I’ll just add it to your tab.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. He grinned. It was the small things. Every day with Hermione was made up of moments of small things: how she teased him about his hair when it grew too long, how she anticipated his moods on days that carried more meaning than most would know, or how she tried to diffuse his temper when he got a bit too worked up over a problem, and he did his best to do the same for her, both having worked to get past the volatile relationship of their youth.

At work, he both challenged Hermione and balanced her intellect, looking for answers in ways she didn’t immediately think of, and of course there was plenty of good natured teasing on his end, as well. By this point, he considered her a friend, and they were an excellent team, which is why they had recently been partnered together, once it had become clear that they wouldn’t destroy the department arguing with each other.

He sat back, savoring the warm drink and considered his coworker. Granger. She was definitely easy on the eye, he thought, having developed curves in all the right places since leaving Hogwarts. He hadn’t really thought about her like that…but, if he was honest, he hadn’t not thought about her, either. She was his partner. And a friend. And had legs for days…and a really nice rack that wouldn’t mind burying his face in, if only…. No, those were not thoughts he had had for Hermione. She was just a friend. Just his office mate. But could she be more? Did he want her to be? And, what, if any, were her thoughts on the matter?

He continued to ruminate on his office mate. He thought about how Hermione’s hair, always coiffed at the beginning of the day, grew bigger each time she ran her hand through it. He thought about how she chewed her lip when she was working through a particularly vexing issue. And he thought about how she approached the world, full of hope, how she cared for her friends and those around her, going out of her way to make others feel accepted and welcome, and how she chose to wield her intellect to help make the world a better place. Simply put, she was an extraordinary witch.

He wasn’t sure how exactly she had known about his love for all things apple, but clearly, she knew what he liked. Now he just had to figure out how to convince her to let him work off his tab. Hermione sighed as Draco mumbled something under his breath and left the office. She eyed the back of her partner as he sauntered down the hall and turned back to the papers on her desk.

*****

“So, question…”, Draco asked, leaning over Blaise’s desk. “Who was the last guy Granger dated?”

His best friend cocked an eyebrow - this was new. “Uh…if I remember correctly, it was MacMillan.”

Everyone knew Blaise was better than Witches Weekly when it came to keeping up with the latest gossip. It was handy to have him in your corner, Draco thought. While pondering this information, he began to catalogue what exactly he knew about MacMillan. “For how long and when did it end?” Draco followed up.

“Any particular reason that should be interesting to you?” Blaise inquired.

“Not yet. Just doing some research. Keep your friends close and all that…isn’t that how the saying goes?” Draco quickly covered.

“I guess…” Blaise responded. “I don’t think it was a serious thing. They just went out a couple of times this summer, from what I recall.”

“MacMillan is a bit of a ponce, from what I remember, yeah?”

“I don’t know." Blaise answered, "Seems like an okay guy. Don’t you remember hearing Hermione talk about her trip to Dublin? I think they went away together, right before it ended.”

Now that he thought about it, he did remember. Shortly after he had been officially been assigned to work with Hermione, she had come back from a long weekend trip just a bit too put together, her manner just a bit too forced. At the time, he thought it might have been because of the new working arrangements, but perhaps it had been for something completely different.

“Who else?” Draco followed up.

“What do I look like, a tabloid reporter?” Blaise retorted.

“Yeah, yeah…save it for someone who cares.” Draco responded, “We both know you keep tabs on everyone’s comings and goings. And besides, you know I keep your secrets - so spill.”

Blaise grinned, knowing it was true. He thought for a moment. “Most recently before MacMillan, I think there was rumor of a fling with one of the older Weasleys.” (Draco rolled his eyes.) “I think Finnegan tried to get in there, but got shot down pretty quickly.” (Draco smirked.) “Oh…and she dated that Australian who works for the Daily Prophet for a little while… Does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“For now,” Draco responded casually, “Thanks. I owe you…maybe one of those PSLs…”

Blaise chuckled, “Don’t bother. I didn’t especially like it, either.”

Draco thought this all over. Granger was an attractive witch. She had no problem finding someone to date, but if recent history was any indication, she didn’t stay in a relationship for very long. He pondered his next steps forward - two paths in front of him. He considered which one he wanted to take, and how best to pursue her once he had decided. He dated, but if he was to be honest with himself, he didn’t really consider himself the relationship type. But, Granger, she was a different kind of witch than the ones he typically took to dinner and then to bed.

*****

Friday night found the gang of friends and co-workers hanging out around several tables at the Leaky Cauldron. House rivalries of years past had long since faded, given several of them having attended their eighth year at Hogwarts, which had been a different place in the aftermath of the unpleasantness with He-Who-Bit-It-In-The-End.

House rivalries just didn’t seem so important, after all that they had gone through, let alone the ridiculous distinctions based on blood purity that several of them had been raised with, but had been able to recognize the idiocy of.

It didn’t hurt that Hannah Abbott now ran the Leaky and kept their pitchers full. Draco sat back in his chair, surveying the room. Potter and Weaselette being cozy as normal. Soon there would be a call from someone for the two of them to get a room. Longbottom kept a careful eye on Hannah, as she worked, given their recent engagement. Predictable, he thought. Pansy was leaning over to whisper something in Ron Weasley’s ear, his face was turning as red as his hair as he listened. Granger and Daphne Greengrass were cloistered with Theo Nott and some other guy at a booth nearby. As if she knew he was watching, Hermione glanced up and met Draco’s gaze, giving him a warm smile before she turned her attention back to the conversation.

Later, he returned from the loo to find Granger placing two glasses of firewhiskey in front of his place and Blaise’s. “Here, boys…Hannah asked me to bring these over,” she smiled, “Said you were running low.” She settled into an empty seat next to Blaise.

“Say, Granger…what are you girls going as this year?” Blaise asked.

With the Halloween Costume Ball only a few weeks away, there were sure to be plans afoot. Each year, the women in their group banded together and dressed as some quite clever theme. There was the year they had all dressed as the Holyhead Harpies, made significantly easier by the fact that Weaselette was actually on the team. And he remembered the year they had all dressed up as pieces of fruit. How anyone had gotten Pansy to dress as a bunch of grapes (albeit, a tasteful and stylish bunch), he would never know.

Hermione only shook her head, “Now you know how this works, Blaise. You’ll have to wait and see, just like everyone else.”

“And what are you going as, Draco?” Blaise smirked.

“You know damn well what I’m going as,” Draco retorted, “Same as every day, I’ll be a wizard. I don’t dress up for these things.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Hermione. “Some people just don’t know how to have any fun,” he said, looking at Hermione’s assent. “Well,” he said with a grin, “I’m dressing as a Niffler this year. I think it's a good way to ensure I have a way to get close to all those lovely ladies with their shiny and sparkly baubles. Wouldn’t want to leave empty-handed on such an auspicious night.”

*****

The following Sunday found several of the group out on the Quidditch pitch for their normally scheduled rec league game. The league was quite competitive, so the former Hogwarts players relished the chance to be on their brooms. The team was fortunate to have a built-in cheer squad. Parkinson wouldn’t be caught dead playing quidditch. Weaselette couldn’t play, given she played professionally, and Granger wouldn’t know what to do with a quaffle if she was sitting right in front of the goal. The match was always a lively event, but today, the three witches were quite engrossed in their own conversation and didn’t notice as Draco hovered a bit closer to them than was strictly necessary. He was close enough to notice the book sitting on Hermione’s lap and made a mental note of its title, filing the information away for future reference.

After the game, the tired players sauntered over and began to plop down on the grass. Predictably, Weasley immediately tore into the snacks that had been packed. As Draco went to rummage through his bag, Hermione reached out an arm and handed him the sweatshirt he was searching for without even looking up from her conversation.

*****

By the end of the next work week, preparation for the ball was in full swing. It was one of the best attended events of the year, and for those who participated (and most did), the desire to have one of the memorable costumes was quite strong. That week, many had tried to get intel on who was wearing what, but for the women in their group, it was as if they had taken an unbreakable vow and couldn’t discuss the matter at all. The usual Friday night happy hour was forgotten in lieu of last minute preparations on costumes and the revelry was kept to a minimum, given the event to come the following evening.

Draco wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, but he had decided that it was time for him to make his intentions known. As he dressed for the ball, he again sorted through his thoughts about the witch who had unwittingly maneuvered her way through his consciousness to become more of a preoccupation as of late - the object of his desire. She had shown her regard for him, although not in so many words. It was time to make clear where he stood on the matter.

Upon arriving, his eyes glanced around the room, noting that much of their group had not yet arrived. He saw MacMillan across the floor, dressed as a vampire and scowled. So predictable. He’d be one of ten or so vampires that evening. He turned and spied Nott, who was wearing a toga with a laurel wreath in his hair, full glass of wine in his hand. He made his way over and struck up a conversation, while keeping an eye on the main staircase.

“Oh…it looks suspiciously like you’ve dressed for this,” Nott remarked, eyeing the period blue formal jacket and fitted robes that Draco had on, “This is definitely not your usual ‘wizarding attire.’”

Draco waved him off, “There’s no rule that says I can’t play along.”

Theo smirked, glancing at the top of the stairs, “Hmm…” he mused, “I think you’ve decided there’s something you want, Draco.”

Draco followed Theo’s gaze, and his breath caught. Standing at the top of the stairs were an assemblage of women, each dressed as a princess straight out of a story book, but Draco only had eyes for one. She was a vision in an elaborate gold satin ball gown, with her honey brown hair curled and hanging loosely down her back. To complete the look, she was carrying a book in her arm…quintessential Hermione.

As she started down the stairs, Draco moved to meet her, holding out a single red rose. She reached the bottom and looked up at him and smiled, taking both the rose and his waiting hand.

“I thought you didn’t dress up for these,” she chided.

He handed the book off to Theo and carefully guided Hermione towards the dance floor. “I figured the Belle of the ball needed her Beast."

She gazed up at him with a puzzled look on her face. “But how did you know?” she asked.

“It’s the small things, isn’t it, Hermione? If you pay attention, and you know where to look, you see them,” he said. There would be plenty of time for explanations later. For now, he took her hand in his and placed the other on the small of her back. He was where he wanted to be and with the witch he wanted to be with. And as the music began, Hermione gave a contented sigh and rested her head on her prince’s shoulder.


End file.
